


with all wonder and nothingness

by Elisye



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, also that ship tag is past and implied only rip, dial the void for help with your procrastination, tap dances to my own stupid angsty AUs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 16:19:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13505199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisye/pseuds/Elisye
Summary: All the world is a stage, is it not? So where is your part in this play?(That's a rhetorical question. You have none. Watch, sole spectator - to the creation of a miracle that you paid dearly for.)





	with all wonder and nothingness

**Author's Note:**

> ive been trying to write this idea for like forever and it takes me one fandom leave and binge-watching s2 to finally get SOMETHING about this au down rip

 

it comes in pieces.

violet butterflies and bursts of light. burning buildings and rouge-verte. at the end of the dream, there always stood you - your hoarse voice, voiceless, as blue eyes slowly turned to you with a whisper of goodbye disappearing with the smoke.

you wake up with a burning sensation in your arm - your hand desperately reaching out for something, finding nothing, grasping nothing. labored breaths breathe into the cold room, into the unlit night. it happens without fail, this strange routine of nostalgia and failure and guilt. your arm feels like a rock in the Seine as you eventually, finally, let it fall back down to your side, onto the colder bed sheets. the lights of a speeding car blur across the ceiling for a moment, passing back into obscurity—as does the adrenaline in blood, leaving your head heavy and somewhat aware of something in the corner of your eyes. you refuse to acknowledge them for the fourth time in a month.

it takes a while, but you fall back asleep. it's hardly restful, simply fitful - and all the while, as you dream of being dreamless, you can feel the enormous weight of a ring and a pair of earrings in your hands.

 

 

 

 

 

it came back in pieces.

ever since, the world has... been a bright place.

too bright. too nice. too true.

the world is a plastic dollhouse, and yet simultaneously reality. turn on the tv for a moment, flip through the news channels - there are plenty of wars and disasters happening out there. the world will always be true to itself.

you will simply have to accept the dissonance. in the morning, as you blearily munch on your breakfast, listening to the latest news developments over the past twelve hours. the taste of processed sugar and artificial flavors is barely noticeable - it only is when you idly imagine your father's reaction to learning about your meals. he might be doubtlessly mortified to know you've firmly decided to screw the careful nutritional plans you've lived your whole life by until a few years ago.

 _might,_ because Gabriel Agreste is not very attentive, much less doting. and lesser so, since you stubbornly navigated your way out of the family after entering university. though the name is still stitched to yours - as much as you'd like to have nothing to do with the man, it seems he isn't interested in getting his hand off your shoulder. as he has always done. as how he always is.

(once in a while, you wake up to find a few extra millions in your account. the response can only be mixed - because why does he care? why does he care? after everything? after that?

is it... because—)

the world is much too bright for you, sometimes. but some things may never decide to change.

 

 

 

 

 

and the pieces shall always be pieces.

"—thankfully, Ladybug and Chat Noir were able to take care of things!"

"You really do admire those two." 

"Well..." a bashful lilt. "They're real superheroes! It's... I just find them really amazing."

despite it all, you find a smile slowly blooming into shape. you take a moment to adjust the phone in your ear before going back to stirring the boiling pasta in its pot. "I suppose you would. As much as I would like to doubt their powers, against the evidence, they seem to be nothing but credible."

"Aha, finally coming to my side now?"

"No."

"Ouch."

you hum pleasantly. in the hollowed-out silence, bubbles furiously froth in the water.

"...You know," comes a sudden, quiet voice. "I didn't really think we'd be having this conversation. I-I mean, after... y'know."

"I know." a bit unthinkingly, you sigh. "While I don't regret my words to him, nor my choice of becoming estranged - I do regret leaving you with him. I regret being too... rash, by essentially ignoring you."

"I know that too." there's a static chuckle - soft, but sad. enough that even you, with your 'legendary denseness', can tell. "Dad has always been strict, and after Mom... died, he just became more... —I-I get it, a little. Sometimes, Dad is too overbearing even for me."

"If you ever need to get away from him, do know that I will always have my door open to you." a pause. "Except, of course, when I'm out. Then the door is most certainly locked, and I cannot help you much with that. I don't keep any spare keys under the mat either, for your information - so do not expect anything except working knowledge about lock-picks to help you, at that point."

"Uh, I... guess, I'll keep that in mind? N-Not to be mean though, but I think I'll be staying in Paris for the time being."

for a second, the words prickle you. it wasn't a complete refusal, but it wasn't a complete agreement either.

as if sensing your quaint feelings, they hurriedly continue, reassuring, "It really isn't anything against you! It's just that... it looks like Paris is going to be a pretty lively place, for a while. Even if things aren't the best at home, I can still look forward to what's going to happen next here! Like the new superheroes and—hey, did I tell you that I can to school now? Like, _actual_ school! No more private tutors or anything!"

you blink blankly at the kitchen walls, black-white, tiled. "No, you didn't. How—"

"Dad finally agreed! Took a while, but—" there's a scuffle of static and fabric in the background. a faint voice - it's too broken and too soft to recognize, but the mention of camembert is neither. "I-I guess—what I mean to say is that, things are starting to look better and better! I think—I _want_ to think, I'll be fine. Happy."

the last of the water in the pot is spent. you slowly move to switch off the stove, thinking - not wanting to think - of prismatic colors in the Paris skyline, of fluttering red ribbons and your hand trying to save them in vain. that still moment inside an empty zeppelin, unable to see anything, unable to feel anything, unable to _believe._

—you've always been quite the skeptic. as well as a flawless actor. the thoughts descend into the mist in the back of your head, an attempt at being forgotten, ignored at best. they will return in your dreams, where you can reminisce on being the only son in a cold family, the black cat of the night, the last player on the chessboard. a pawn who promoted to queen, to king, in a vicious war game for the power to grant wishes. but for now, in the waking day, you can only continue as an insignificant character - put on your most amicable mask, and watch for the ending with bated breath. (so be happy. be _happier_. a tragedy, once, is tragic enough.)

"...If that is your decision, there is nothing for me to do than to respect it. Just don't regret it - do you understand, Adrien?"

"I don't think I will, Felix." you can hear a grin in their voice. they don't understand at all.

 


End file.
